Kexin Zou

The pieces in this stage are made from resin and 3D printing. Ring-shaped, but irregular—not complete circles, distorted and uneven.

I kept asking myself: when people are under pressure, far from home, surrounded by constant change, why is the first reaction to pull back rather than to heal? As an international student, adapting to a new environment is genuinely hard. The language, the culture, the daily rhythm—all need to be relearned. Academic pressure works differently from back home; assignments, grading criteria, writing and presenting in a foreign language—sometimes my brain just freezes. Emotions go up and down, and sometimes I suddenly feel low without knowing why. That discomfort didn’t turn into comfort immediately; I pulled back first.
But I slowly realized this withdrawal isn’t just my reaction. Many people, when facing pressure or unfamiliar environments, instinctively wrap themselves up first. This isn’t weakness, or lacking something—it’s self-protection. These distorted rings are my understanding of this stage. They look unstable, incomplete, visibly interrupted. They don’t show an ending; they mark a starting point: you step back, wrap yourself up, try to reorder things in your head, before you can move forward.
I hope these pieces make those with similar experiences feel understood. Withdrawal isn’t shameful; it’s simply the first step in beginning to sort ourselves out.

After pulling back, people instinctively look for small, simple comforts. The pieces in this stage are about exactly that—rounded, doughnut-like, complete circles.
At that time I often bought sweets, doughnuts and such. A tiny release, a short breath. Later I realized this habit of seeking small comfort isn’t just mine. Many people under pressure instinctively grab something that makes them feel better—a piece of dessert, a song, a familiar small gesture. These round, plump shapes are my most direct expression of “healing.” Compared to the distorted rings of the first stage, they look more stable, more complete, closer to an idealized state of comfort.

But this comfort isn’t permanent. It’s more like a temporary emotional buffer—a brief place to put yourself when reality feels too heavy. Precisely because it fades, you keep returning to it. This stage documents that recurring, temporary comfort in daily life.
I hope these round, plump shapes offer gentle company to those under pressure—even if brief, it deserves to be cherished.

After withdrawal and healing, people try to return to daily life. But does this count as a “return”? The final stage asks this question—one side remains circular, while the other side is a shape formed naturally through experience, no longer perfectly regular.

After pulling back and recovering, I slowly moved back into daily life—but not forcing myself back to who I was, instead gradually finding a state that suits me better through the experience. I believe many people have felt this. After going through things, you no longer insist on becoming your old self; you let those experiences naturally shape you until you find a new, more comfortable balance. These forms are my understanding of “return.” They sit between the complete circles of Healing and the broken rings of Withdrawal. The circular side retains something familiar and stable, while the irregular side isn’t damage—it’s having grown, through all of this, into something that fits your real self more closely.

This isn’t a failed return, nor forcing yourself to recover. You carry what you’ve been through, and continue forward in a more natural, more comfortable way.

I hope these pieces offer those experiencing change a kind of reassurance—you don’t need to force yourself back to the past. Just move forward, and slowly find the shape that fits you.